


Moon Sickness

by Foxflannel



Series: Beasts and Bloodsport [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Blood and Gore, Drug Use, Gun Violence, M/M, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Minor Character Death, Multi, Other, Recreational Drug Use, Werewolf AU, Werewolves, Wolfsbane Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 13:38:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17060807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxflannel/pseuds/Foxflannel
Summary: Delving into Gavin's childhood for a bit to explain his werewolf heritage as well as him on the police force.  After searching some things on the internet, Gavin decides to go try some Red Ice, a drug that has some incredible effects on werewolves.  However, things don't end up well for him or his new werewolf friends when both the DPD and some bounty hunters show up uninvited.





	Moon Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to have this done ages ago but nothing came out right so I decided to backtrack a little and touch upon Gavin's childhood/upbringing as well as Hank's eventual turn to lycanthropy. This ended up just becoming word vomit but I'm somehow really pleased with it.
> 
> As always, I'm @Foxflannel on Twitter. Tumblr sniped me from afar so I probably won't post there until my account is back.
> 
> if you enjoy, what I do, please leave a kudos or a comment, it helps me out a lot!

Another wave of vomit splashed into the toilet as Gavin choked and coughed it out. Beside him, sitting on the edge of the tub, was his mother, and next to her, his older half-brother, Elijah. A warm hand rubbed along his bare back, overheating his clammy, sweat-slicked flesh. He had been kneeling face-first into the toilet for what felt like ages, flushing every so often and surviving another wrack of rolling shivers through his being.

“Does he have the flu?” Elijah asked, pushing up his far-too-large glasses and looking at his younger sibling who was currently wiping tears away from his purpling eyes.

“No, sweetie,” Gavin's mom spoke, giving him a small smile. “It's not the flu.”

“A bad cold?” he asked. Gavin heaved but nothing came up, making the small boy whimper.

“No, it's a little more complicated than that.”

“Oh...” Elijah fell quiet, the gears in his six-year-old head turning. “Puberty?”

Gavin's mother laughed and brushed back some spare strands of her auburn hair. “I certainly hope not! No, sweetie, he's got moon sickness.”

“The moon made him sick?”

Sophia didn't know what to tell Elijah. Though Gavin and he shared a deadbeat father, they had different mothers. Elijah's had passed away when he was two, a bad car pileup on the freeway had taken her away from him, and he had since moved in with Ron and Sophia. If Ron wasn't coming home drunk, he was coming home angry and broke, another casino visit ending in failure, yelling and throwing things, shattering them across the wall as easily as he fractured their relationship. Once he ran Elijah's mother's saved money, he swooped in to be with Sophia. The kids didn't care that they had different moms; they never treated each other any differently outside of their interests on opposite sides of the spectrum. Gavin was more attuned to sports and physical activities, Elijah in the sciences and books.

Unfortunately, that also meant there was another major gap between them: Elijah was born human. Gavin was not.

A yearly doctor visit told Sophia that Gavin's white blood cell count was immensely high and, ruling out cancer, it was obvious that Gavin had inherited his mother's familial bloodline. It had passed over her, however, instead choosing to be with her firstborn child. Elijah had been clear of such afflictions from birth, to be raised as a happy, human child.

Watching her son emptying the contents of dinner suddenly only told her that he would soon be transforming in the coming months. It was something she was determined would happen sometime in the future when he was a teenager, but of course his luck would never be so good. Being young and starting the change wasn't uncommon, but nowadays it was growing rarer. Children often couldn't handle the shifts and would end up dying or immensely weak, an amalgamation only partially shifted and heaped on the floor in tears, grotesque noises wailing from a misshapen maw. Agonizing. A fate worse than death in many cases.

“Gavin is a werewolf, Eli.” Sophia said simply. The young child's mouth fell open and blue eyes bulged as he looked over, glancing at his brother's butt and frowning.

“He doesn't have a tail.”

“No, not yet.” she said. Her hand continued working in circles as Gavin heaved again, a thick trickle of saliva lingering down his chin and reaching for the toilet bowl. “Being a werewolf means sometimes he'll get really sick like this until his body is used to it and then one day he'll become a wolf.”

“Me too?”

“No. I'm afraid not, sweetie. It's something a family can have but only a few people get it. It didn't pass down to you.” Sophia was expecting a tantrum, of there to be jealousy or a fight. Instead, she got something else entirely.

“Does that mean I can get bitten by a vampire someday?”

From the toilet bowl, Sophia heard a muffled laugh, Gavin wiping snot and spit from his mouth. “Why would you want to be a vampire? They're dumb.”

“Says the wet dog.”

“You're so stupid, Eli.”

“At least I don't have to learn tricks.”

“I don't—!”

“Boys, please.” Sophia cut in, wiping down Gavin's forehead with a damp, cold rag. “This isn't something that can be treated lightly, okay? A lot of people don't like werewolves and it can get your brother in of trouble someday. People might even try to hurt him really badly.”

“Why?” Eli asked, sitting next to her on the tub's edge. Gavin brushed his sweat-slick hair from his forehead and slowly got up on aching limbs, drinking water from the sink before plopping back down in front of the toilet.

“People think they're monsters and get scared of them. Even though werewolves aren't like in the movies, people are still scared they'll be attacked or eaten. People are afraid of what they don't understand.” Sophia told them, frowning, “I want you boys to look out for each other someday, alright? Wolf or not, you're both brothers and someday you might only have each other.”

Both boys gave varying degrees of acknowledgment in reluctant mumbles.

“Does that mean one day Gavin won't puke into the toilet because it's where he's gonna drink his water?”

Gavin laughed so hard another wave of nausea hit him and sunk his stomach, cutting his laugh short.

 

 

Gavin's first moon sickness was his worst. That isn't to say the rest had been easy but they hadn't had the same debilitating effect as the first. His body grew slowly and he adapted to the waves of nausea and the fever that wracked his body as easily as the chills and sheets of sweat that lingered long after he fell asleep. The age of ten was when he had his first transformation and it had been terrifying for him. Sophia was at work, Ron was nowhere to be seen as typical as it was and the two boys were left alone in their room. The moon normally had a strange, alluring presence to Gavin but he wasn't sure why. Werewolves in movies always looked at the moon before transforming in a dramatic fashion but Gavin spent months and years glancing at it from the window, chin on fist.

There was something peaceful about its silver-blue glow, something he found such beauty in as he watched every single pock and crater along her surface. Elijah had gotten a telescope for Christmas and Gavin would spend hours watching it with brilliant clarity.

But one night, things had gone wrong and Gavin collapsed onto the cheap wooden floor in a ball, moaning pitifully and shivering. Elijah didn't know what to do so did what he could to comfort his brother. He ended up making a bed on the floor, their blankets and pillows tossed haphazardly along the floor and a cold, damp rag for Gavin's shoulder and side. Elijah did his best to relax and calm him down, constantly calling Sophia to get her to answer her phone. He was a phonecall away from calling 9-1-1 until Sophia came home.

Over the next few hours, Gavin shifted. The pain was immense, the sounds of bones snapping and realigning in different places, rib cage expanding and nails being lifted up as claws grew underneath them. Elijah took to gathering up Gavin's human teeth that fell from his head, his mother took to wiping up blood that trickled from his nose, finger and toes, and mouth.

Eventually, ears climbed to the top of his head and a nose became a snout, the humanoid wolf never uncurling from its side once done. Elijah waited for about an hour before he gently crawled to his brother's side and touched his fluffy shoulder. The fur was thick, soft, patterned in creams and dark browns and blacks. Gavin only managed to crack an eye open for a sliver, the yellow sharp and glowing in the dark room, sending Elijah to scuttle backwards into his bed painfully with a yelp.

Gavin was in too much pain to feel offended and heartbroken over the fact that his brother was afraid of him. Through the squint of his eyes and a vision blurred by agonizing pain, he caught sight of a large, clawed paw flat against the floor. The tips of his claws were arched against the wood in a wicked glint. A monster is what he saw.

 

 

 

When they both turned sixteen, Elijah had become eligible for college, his I.Q. far too high for high school to the point where he'd actually teach his classes the 'advanced' things they were taking, the teachers themselves even falling behind. Even then became boring for him, instead isolating himself in the tech labs and working on his own projects away from the public eye of his classmates.

Laying on a bed, Gavin just rolled his eyes, finishing up some history homework and glancing over at his brother sitting at the computer, filling out some forms with a fancy pen, hair tied up messily into a shaggy, wavy bun.

“Werewolves weren't cool enough for you, huh?” Gavin sniffed, twirling his pencil around his fingers nimbly. “Wanna go around and invent robots to rule the fuckin' planet?”

“Androids, Gav, and no,” Elijah said, flipping a page, “I told you that this is going to help the world. Why would an android run the world if humans are programming it to do what it's predetermined to do?”

“Cuz you're a dick,” Gavin said, pencil now on his top lip, resting precariously across his budding mustache, “You're gonna make one _just_ to annoy me, aren't you?”

“I might, if you keep pestering me,” Elijah threatened, signing another form. “Two years in the entry program and then another four years in the master's program. And then, who knows: I'll make you a robot dog that could teach you how to be polite for once.” Elijah winked, nudging his glasses up closer to his eyes and wishing the conversation would cease so he could focus.

“Pfft, you'd like that, eh? I'd love to fuckin' piss on your new robot.”

“Then I hope you're prepared to drop me every penny of income you make for the rest of your life.”

Gavin laughed, rolling to his back and throwing his homework to the floor. “You got your whole life figured out and I still don't know what the fuck I'm gonna do. I'm not cut out for some retail or desk job. Not that great at sports. I'm just...average, man. What do you think?”

“Hm” Elijah was chewing on the edge of his pen, squinting at some form. “Do you want a serious answer or an asshole response?”

“Asshole response, you?! Christmas came fucking early, lemme hear it!”

Elijah grinned, teeth visible on the edge of the pen. “Cops always need a K-9 unit.”

“You're such a fucking--” Gavin rolled from his back to his stomach, glancing over the edge of his bed at the homework lopped aggressively to the floor. A cop, huh? Driving around, arresting scummy people like their dad, flashing a badge and being better than the general public?

“Know what, that could work.”

“Gavin, I wasn't serious--”

“Not about the—no, not the fucking K-9 unit. A cop. I could be a cop.”

“You'd have to pass a written exam, you know, and the field exam on top of that. There's also classes you need to take as well as dedicated training...”

“They also taze you and pepper spray you. I heal fast. It's not gonna be a fucking problem. A werewolf cop. Hallmark better slap that shit on a card or make a damn movie, cuz I'm gonna be the first.”

Elijah turned a little in his chair with an arm slung over the top, looking his brother over critically for a long time before ushering up a sigh, “I suppose if that's what you want to do, then that's all there is to it. You've always been good at finding stuff with that increased sense of smell and hearing. Who knows? Maybe you're cut out for being a detective or a private investigator. Don't sell yourself short.” Elijah signed a form in perfect, curvy cursive before tucking the form away and finding the next with a frown. Financial information and assistance. “If that doesn't work out for you, well...that movie idea isn't such a bad thought.”

 

 

 

Very few people knew about Gavin's affliction growing up, and that number only increased slightly as he aged. Tina had only discovered this one night after an evening of drinking and, having locked herself out of her apartment, came to crash at Gavin's place. He had given her a spare key while she was with an asshole of a man but he never thought it would bite him in the ass. She opened the door of his house and came face to face with him stripped to the nude, midway to shifting. He had been planning on running to the nearest woods that night after a long month of stress to unwind, but instead ended up draped across Tina's lap, 300 pounds of muscle and fur weighing her down.

Tina had been terrified at first, but the shift was something that couldn't be stopped and reverted once started, so he managed to tell her enough before his mouth was fully gone behind a muzzle's guise, though he supposed nothing would be different once she woke up and he was still changed. Drunk Tina came to terms with it fairly quickly, plunging her hands into the thick fur around his neck and eventually flopping face first into it, inhaling deeply.

It had been awkward, then, but the next day at work he came clean. Tina had been amazingly accepting of him throughout his life in the short time they knew each other. Tina asked a lot of questions, curious as she was, but never overstepped and knew to let him come to her. She was wary at first and he couldn't blame her; a suddenly seven-foot wolfman was something anybody would take a while to come to terms with.

The full moon didn't make him transform like the movies, but the ache in his bones and the pounding headache made the shift hard to ignore for him, so sometimes, he'd just change to get it over with and flop on his bed and nap or drape across his couch. On these lazy nights, he loved Tina's company. She'd put on shitty reality TV shows with the volume low and subtitles on, running her hands down his back, arms, and thighs, dulling the pain for him though he was unsure if she ever realized. She couldn't have pets in her tiny apartment, so her best friend being covered in thick fur was a dream for her. The dull, annoying pain in his limbs receded after hours of pets and Tina's want for an animal's affection was fulfilled, a mutual partnership.

Tina only stayed away during the full moons where he had started to slide into his heats or, more commonly, when he had to run, to be free from the annoyingly loud city and the smell of concrete and gasoline, into the trees to feel the cold dirt under his paws, the blades of grass beneath his footsteps. Gavin loved his motorcycle and the freedom it netted him when Detroit grew warm, but nothing compared to the wind grazing its fingers through his brown fur when he ran full speed. The cold air in his lungs, the smell of every rabbit, bird, and person who walked through the trees that day fresh in his senses. To be one with nature was something he never appreciated until he was here, in this form, an amalgamation of man and beast and somehow grounded with the very world around him.

The rush of adrenaline when he raced top speed through the trees was better than any fuck or fight could give him and he chased that feeling as often as he could, even outside of the full moons. Sometimes work grew too stressful and he found himself stripping for a shower before thinking twice on it and instead shifting, sneaking out the back door and hopping his privacy fence, bolting across the busy streets when the coast was clear to dash away into the cover of foliage.

He'd take the time to settle the wolf's urges, marking trees, sniffing the leaves and grasses until his lungs burned and his nose was dripping with liquid and information. Tonight, he had plans with other wolves, taking the time to get to where he was going and avoiding the bustle of the streets, each passing car making his ears twitch. He watched as a traffic light went from yellow to red and a low growl rumbled in his chest, the circular lights causing the anger to swell within him, reminding him too much of an android's temple.

His brother's creation.

His dreams realized.

Shortly after his brother stowed away to college, he was admitted into a program where he began to work in the field of robotics and sciences. Too quickly he worked, too quickly the fruits of his labor became apparent when he played God and became one: androids. Originally, it had been only one at the time, an attractive blonde he dubbed 'Chloe'. Within the next few years, he couldn't go a damn foot on the street without bumping into one of the plastic fucks.

Elijah had called lycanthropy unnatural and yet went and created artificial humans. He wondered if things would have changed, then, if Elijah had been the one afflicted instead. Would people trust the word of a monster that androids were safe when at any moment those blue eyes could become yellow? Gavin's growl tapered off once he realized his oxygen had ended and, snorting, he took in a deep breath and let loose a weak howl. Ears perked, he sat down, waiting.

There was a good thing that came from androids, however, and it came in the form of Red Ice, a street drug made from android 'blood'. For humans, it gave them the best high of their life but made them irritable, aggressive, a high-rate of addiction. For a werewolf with a higher immune system it had better effects. It stopped the aches and pains before a shift, mellowed out even the most aggressive of wolves and, in some cases, even brought on early heats. He had never touched the stuff personally but it was all the rage between werewolves within the past few years that he had grown curious about it, reading up on forums run by wolves in disguise and reading their experiences with it. All pleasant. All graphic in detail. Gavin's nose twitched at the thought. What he wouldn't give to be thoroughly wrecked again.

He could mask his heats easily, being the only werewolf at the DPD. It didn't stop him from being aggravatingly, painfully horny for the whole week, but he could hide it well enough after years of dealing with it. Not like he could ask Fowler for a week off because he was too horny to function, but he was able to slip out of work early to bring his work home, masturbating furiously in the shower to ebb the pains a little. It was never enough but it helped. Rarely, he'd bring a stranger home, biting back his growls and clenching his eyes shut to keep the shifts back as he pounded—or was pounded—away into the night.

The sex helped. It wasn't enough, not enough to sate him properly, but it was enough to keep him functioning. Outside of that, he'd tuck himself into the waistband of his jeans and keep his leg bouncing under his desk to hide his frustration. He recalled the time Tina came over to his desk, complimenting him on his new cologne and paling at the realization that she was literally able to smell his musk, his calling card that 'hey, come fuck me'.

The next week, Tina laughed so hard she had to run to the bathroom before she pissed herself from her glee. She never let him live it down, but she was more than respectful towards him during those weeks. Twice a year was manageable for a detective like himself. Made the fieldwork so much easier when his senses were ablaze, running at 200% for the hopes that another horny wolf was around the corner. He made a lot of arrests in those weeks, enough to make Hank suspicious.

Gavin jerked from his thoughts when he caught another howl, he estimated it to be about two miles to the East. Giving his limbs a little stretch and marking one last tree, he took off carefully under the guise of night, wind petting his fur and dampening his whiskers. Detroit was ugly for the most part but there was something alluring about seeing the world through a wolf's eyes. Every tree was interesting, every blade of grass beneath his paws was exhilarating. He only wished he could share his experiences with others, rolling his eyes at the realization that he was always a 'lone wolf'. He didn't get along well with others.

He wasn't about to start.

When the coast was clear, he bounded across an empty parking lot into an abandoned warehouse, sliding underneath a rusted door easily and catching eye contact with a few other wolves. Two females, five males from what he could garner. Six pairs of yellow eyes stared back and one blue. Their pelts were all various greys, browns, blacks, creams, and whites, no real rhyme or reason behind them. Gavin had learned that a human's hair color dictated how dark or light their pelt was and judging from these guys, he realized there was probably two blondes, the rest brunette.

This was the place, he assumed, the forum group was searching for a place to...divulge. One of the darker males turned his furry head, pointing his nose at a large duffel bag tucked away in a corner underneath a dilapidated table. Red Ice. Curious wolves who hadn't tried and a lot of the stuff. Gavin glanced over. He was expecting maybe a sandwich baggy of the stuff, enough to give them all a taste and nothing else, but even in the dark, he could see how big the bag was bulging. Was one of them a dealer? He narrowed his eyes at the wolf who had brought the stuff. He was curious, yes, but he was a cop first and foremost. Their clothing currently lay in the corner in plastic bags, brought here from days before or even the morning of.

Couldn't exactly have people walking around naked if they were too high to transform back. Gavin's eyes flicked quickly to the bundle where his clothes were hiding, his badge and gun hidden safely within his wadded up clothes. Each wolf made a degree of sounds, from snuffles, to clicks of nails on concrete before they moved to their own clothes and changed back, dressing quickly and resuming their human forms as they went. Changing back was easy; getting dressed while maintaining balance on changing kneecaps was the hard part, but over the years, Gavin had gotten pretty good at it and, judging from the rest, he was one the most accustomed to the juggle.

One of the lighter-furred males was indeed blonde, and snuck away into the back to return with what looked like a space heater. The two girls tucked away into the other corner and grabbed some metal fold-up chairs from somewhere in the dark. One of the brunette males also disappeared, coming back minutes later with what looked like a portable floodlight and he plugged it into an extension cord strip, plugged into another one, trailing somewhere behind a crumbling, concrete wall. The second the dingy warehouse lit up, there were various cheers. Gavin was uncomfortable. The cop in him was telling him to get the fuck out of here, to get some backup and get these fuckers arrested with the amount of drugs they were hauling.

The curious monster within him wanted to see this through. Careful months of planning to get this far and he wasn't about to fuck it over now. He grabbed a chair, crossing his ankle over his knee and watching the man who brought the Red Ice working, getting it all ready. The two girls were chatting, giggling nervously and stealing glances over Gavin's way now and again. He just tucked himself further into his jacket with a huff, narrowed eyes watching the brunette work. The man was nothing special, a jock-looking dude in a tank top and sweats, both ear lobes pierced and simple brown eyes. The females beside him were both blonde, one with blue eyes, one with gray, the blue-eyed one thin and the grey-eyed one chubby. The blonde male he had seen early was a beanpole, tall and lanky in a thick winter coat and jeans, wide framed glasses on his nose and lots of freckles dotting his face. He had warm brown eyes but seemed pretty antsy.

The other males were brunette, one ginger, all with brown eyes in varying degrees of obvious throw-away clothes. Gavin almost scoffed; he was the best looking one here, at least in terms of clothing. In his pocket, he felt the familiar jab of his badge. If shit went South, he was ready, but in the meantime, he was waiting.

“Hey,” the blonde man asked, immediately averting his gaze. He was talking to someone. They didn't answer.

“That's you,” the blue-eyed blonde girl told Gavin and he glanced from her to the man.

“Um...” the blonde kid rubbed his nose nervously before Gavin realized what he was trying to say. Gavin's nose scar. It must have been visible in the bright light of the floodlight beside them. Scars weren't all that uncommon in the world, but he was a fast healer.

“My old man,” he said sullenly, “Piece of shit. Broke my nose and laid me out before I moved out of his house, was knocked out pretty hard so it never healed right.”

“God,” the chubby girl gasped, now blatantly checking the scar out for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“Sorry,” the blonde kid said, frowning, “I-I just...I didn't mean--”

Gavin lifted a hand to shut him up before crossing his arms over his chest. Fuck these guys. He wasn't asking THEM awful questions they had no business knowing. He huffed another breath, the cold of the warehouse only just bearable with his jacket and the pitiful space heater glowing an angry, orange light in the far-end of the chairs.

Eventually, the brunette that brought the drugs turned with a smile and a flourish, holding what looked like an old crack pipe and a handful of needles.

“Pick your poison,” he said before giggling stupidly at his own joke.

“You said it's safe, right?” the blonde kid asked, looking down at a needle with uncertain, bugged eyes.

“Of course, I do this shit all the time. Take a little right before a full moon and not feel a thing when you shift, or...” he waggled his eyebrows at the girls and sauntered over, “have the best fucking sex you've ever had in your next heat. You got lots of options and this shit is so easy to make, man. With androids every inch of this town, there's unlimited supplies.”

“...I see.” Blondie looked down at his needle and then towards the leader. “How about you take some first, Adam, since you know how.”

“Already on some, little man,” the brunette named Adam laughed again, “All you gotta do is give yourself a shot and psssh.” he made a gesture with his hand in a fictitious airplane motion, “You're soaring pretty.”

“I only do some pot,” asked the chubby girl, “How high are we talking?” She had paled considerably. Gavin did his best not to laugh at the poor girl. Was she here just to get high or actually see what it would do to a werewolf's psyche? He reached for a needle handed to him and looked down at the liquid. It was bright red, almost pinkish, sloshing around thickly in the thin vial. Even without his wolf nose, he could smell the acrid scent in the air. It reminded him of printer cartridges to an extent, bitter and lingering.

Adam just rolled his eyes and lit the pipe, taking a long drag and coughing hard before screaming 'WHOO!” like a fucking frat kid at a party. He was flexing, yelling, pacing around the chairs in a circle. Gavin was suddenly aware that he was most likely older than these kids, but none of them looked to be teenagers. Early twenties at least.

One of the girls giggled, taking the pipe and sucking in hard before coughing and sputtering. “C'mon, Gina, it can't be that bad.” the thin girl said.

“Fine, you have some, Caitlyn.” the chubby girl replied, coughing again. Blondie looked down at his needle and uncapped it, looking around sheepishly before catching Gavin's glare and, sighing, he plunged the needle into his arm with a tremble. At once, he fell to his knees with a loud, shuddering gasp and stared at the concrete with wide eyes.

“Whatcha think?” Adam asked, scooping up the needle and recapping it. Blondie just blinks, adjusting his glasses and sitting back on his knees with a groan before laughing softly. “It's...it's weird. I feel warm.”

“Yep, it does that.” Adam glanced over at the two girls, now gently giving each other audible kisses and shaking their shoulders, slipping in a 'better save some for me!” like the fuckboy he was. Gavin glanced back down at his needle and watched a small bubble float to the surface before he watched feet move to the front of his vision.

“You gonna take some or what, Scarface?” Adam said. Gavin stood up and grabbed the man's collar, a snarl building in his throat, but before any damage could be done to the kid's face, a gunshot rang out clear in the air, blitzing through Adam's shoulder as he yelped. Gavin spun quickly to face where the bullet had come from and froze, heart in his throat.

A small group of around five people walked in, handguns primed on their hips or in their hands, the leader's gun smoking. These weren't cops, or homeless people, or druggies.

“Skinners,” Blondie whispered, eyes wide. Caitlyn got up from her chair and bolted but was immediately shot down with a well-aimed bullet to the back, rendering her across the floor in a red skid. Gavin reached for his own gun but it was still in a plastic bag and a bullet rang out clear, tearing the shoulder of his jacket and leaving a red stripe across the flesh underneath.

“EVERYONE DOWN!” yelled the leader, stepping inside with his crew, flashlights trained on them all. Gavin stole a glance over at Adam, his pupils illuminating white in the light. These fuckers didn't bring their contacts?! They were so fucked. Skinners were cruel people. A group dedicated to stealing away werewolves to either train them for some arena fight or, more often than not, to skin them alive and leave them for dead. Some plucked the teeth out of a werewolf's head one by one to make a necklace, some ripped the claws from their fingers. Some took the eyes and kept them in jars to admire, sloshing the liquid around and making the eyes glow in the lights they caught.

Some...some forced them to breed. To make more pups for the same cause.

Gavin swallowed thickly, climbing down to his knees and raising his hands in the air. He was a cop, he'd been in this situation before, but being the only officer here and with a clear, drug-free mind? He might be the only survivor tonight. He prayed someone was in the area, that someone would come by. One of them could escape and get help, could howl and attract attention but...he knew that wouldn't work. Not when folks were too terrified of wolves to consider it to be a cry for help, not a dinner bell.

“What do we got here?” the leader asked, face covered in a ski mask and night vision goggles over his eyes. From behind the fabric of the mask, Gavin caught a smile widening. “We got ourselves a smart one.” he stepped around, looking towards Caitlyn and nodding at a partner of his, who returned the nod and stepped over towards her. One of the others was aiming the barrel of their gun at the back of Adam's head, whose ego had completely deflated from before.

“Sit down, all of you,” the Skinner spoke, watching dutifully as they all did as told. Gavin kept his hands up with his arms somewhat bent. Enough to make them complacent, at least, towards himself. Caitlyn was dragged into her chair, head draped forward on her chest. Gina was currently sobbing quietly. Blondie was sitting with wide eyes, fists clenched on his lap. The other men were staring at their feet. There was a slight hint of urine in the air.

“We got one wolf,” said the Skinner, the gun jabbing Adam's head again, “How many are wolves and how many are junkers?”

One of the men raised their hand with a frown, “I-I'm just a junker, man, I-I didn't know there were wolves here!” The others fell quiet; the man was bluffing and they all knew he was. The dumbest move he could have made. The fifth Skinner, a female, moved towards him, pointing a blacklight at him briefly before cackling.

“A junker AND a shitty liar.” she stated, aiming her gun at his forehead, The scent or urine suddenly became the sound of urine and her laugh only escalated. “Nobody's gonna buy a piss-stained pelt, Sergio,” she said. The main Skinner sighed, slipping off his goggles and his mask to reveal a handsome man with a tapered nose and the top of his hair dyed silver. From the dim light, Gavin could see green eyes and lots of ear piercings in his left ear, unsure of the right.

“What color pelt you got?” Sergio asked the pissing man.

“B-brown. Brown and white.” he stammered, clenching his eyes shut.

“Common coat, no wonder he's so pathetic.” Sergio snapped, the girl snapping the safety off of her gun and the man whimpered. His words were jumbling together, apologies and begs, and pleads all forming one gross incoherent sentence.

“God, this is annoying, SHUT. UP.” the girl spoke, jamming the barrel into the man's head hard enough to echo in the room. He only yelped in fear and continued his babbling. Sergio sighed, looking over at the table full of empty needles and frowning, glancing at the full needle in the pile.

“One of you didn't light up,” he said, curiosity lacing his words. He turned to face them with a wicked smile, revealing two gold teeth, fake wolf-like canines. He stared between them all before his eyes fell on Gavin and he gave a little click of his tongue. “Of course, the only one raising their hands like a good little boy.” he reached forward a gloved hand and ruffled Gavin's hair playfully before dropping his attention back to the girl.

“Elaine, take him out, I'm sick of his crying,”

“N-No, please, I can be useful, I-I can fight! I'll go into the arena, j-just please, please don't ki--”

A gunshot rang out in the warehouse and he dropped, leaving an impressive splatter on the floor. Gina screamed, Blondie looked down at the floor, face completely white. He looked like he was about to be sick. Adam was babbling, now, swearing up a storm.

“Tie the rest up. We'll take them to the arena and decide what to do with them,”

“Sergio?” Elaine asked, frowning. She glanced between each person and grimaced, “They don't seem like fighters, and I highly doubt they'll be of any use in the pelt market. Best we can do is a few teeth if we're lucky, maybe some tails.”

“That doesn't concern me,” Sergio said, sloshing the needle violently until it foamed, “I'm sick of these fucking strays in my neighborhood and I want them dealt with. Get them tied up,” he repeated, turning his back and cleaning up the drugs as one of his lackeys dragged the dead wolf away. Caitlyn still didn't stir but her breathing was slow.

“Actually...” Sergio grinned, looking down at the needles, “Better idea. Get some wolfsbane from the van. We can test them out here and now.”

Gavin's blood ran cold. Wolfsbane was bad. A stupid flower that was once notorious for stopping werewolves when it had quite the opposite effect. It made them rabid, ferocious. Impossible to tell friend from foe, like the Hollywood movies they were made into. He might have a chance fighting, but against a whole pack who might just gang up on him in their already drugged-out states?

“Anyone who tries to leave will get shot down,” Sergio said, watching as Elaine came back with a thin black box. He swiped something into a slot and it opened in a gush of green steam. Gavin closed his eyes tightly. Some people used to use Wolfsbane in the arena to get their wolves to fight better but it only ended up in blood staining the arena and a wolf being carried out in a bodybag. This was a fucking game to the Skinners and they were always gonna win.

“I think...” Sergio started, pulling out a needle and inspecting it, “That you'll be a good example.” he said, coming towards Gavin first. A wave of nausea hit him like a truck. Genuine fear, fear he hadn't felt on the force since he joined. Gripping him tightly in a vice grip around his neck and feeling his pulse race like a rabbit pinned by a fox. Sergio scraped the needle tip across Gavin's neck playfully, admiring the white line it left behind.

“Elaine, get him comfortable, would you?” he said. She rolled her eyes, coming towards Gavin and pulling back his jacket quickly just to hear a loud clunk across the concrete. Pausing, she reached under the chair and gasped.

“Sergio, check it out...we got a fucking COP.”

“A what?” he asked, glancing at the badge. Oh, Christ. Forget the wolfsbane, they were gonna tie him up and let the other wolves tear him to confetti in some shitty warehouse in the middle of a rundown Detroit shithole.”

“You're a fucking narc?” Adam asked, more offended that Gavin was here than their soon-to-be fate.

“Shut the fuck up,” Gavin snarled, turning his head to the blood splatters on the floor.

“Whatever, he doesn't have any backup, just a fucking cop abusing his power and getting high like the pig he is,” Elaine cooed, glinting the badge in the floodlight, the sick gold reflecting in his eyes. Sergio beamed the blacklight on Gavin and hummed.

“Might just be a regular cop, Elaine. There's no glow.”

“There's not?” She came over, beamed the light in his eyes, and then gave the biggest put he ever saw. “So, what, he's just here to get them high? To bust them so he gets commission? How fucking SAD,” she scoffed, aiming a kick at Gavin's stomach and smiling as he doubled over.

“I think we should--”

There was suddenly light. The front entrance had been busted down and men were rushing in, guns aimed at the Skinners and wolves alike. “DPD, get on your knees!” a deep voice roared and Gavin sucked in a breath. He knew that sound.

“Anderson?” he choked out. Hank paused, gun pointing at Gavin.

“Reed? The fuck're you doin' here?” he asked, just in time for a Skinner to shoot towards him, missing by half a mile and having the bullet plunge neatly into the warehouse wall.

“Take them down,” Hank said, rushing instinctively to Gavin's side.

“They hurt you, kid?” he asked, looking him over quickly and catching glimpse of his badge abandoned to the ground, “The fuck're you doin' here?” he asked again, “You better not be fucking getting high on my watch, Reed.”

“No, I wasn't, I--” he couldn't tell Hank the truth; if he found out, Gavin would be fired on the spot. Not only was he a werewolf, he was unauthorized to work as a detective, and on top of that, he was now found in a Red Ice orgy with other wolves AND Skinner son top of it. Shit was bleak.

“Got your gun?” Hank asked. Gavin gave a weak nod, reaching into his coat pocket and thankful they were so deep. Hank gave a nod, watching his squad give chase to a few Skinners. The rest were checking out the drug-addled wolves and frowning or grabbing the Red Ice remnants in the duffel bag or the Wolfsbane vials on the table.

“Anderson,” one of the men called. Ben. “Come look at this.”

Hank gave Gavin a glance and headed over. Gavin had to leave and NOW. He dusted himself off and headed towards the side door's fire escape. If he could change, if he could run into the woods and get out, he could just explain to Anderson he took chase of a perp and be fine come tomorrow morning, no harm done.

Up the rickety steps, he looked out and caught the red and blue of the cop lights flashing. They were focused on the front of the building and presumably the back. If he timed it right, he could transform and sneak away into the woods quickly. His own car was at home; they knew he walked. They'd be looking for him anyways to bring him in for questioning. The least he wanted was a good night's sleep before he dealt with Anderson and Fowler up his ass.

He sucked in a breath and willed up the energy to shift. He felt the familiar warmth spreading through his body, the prickling of fur ready to spring through his skin like grass growing in a timelapse, but what he got instead was slammed to the steps of the fire escape, needle embedded in his neck. He kicked out wildly, trying to get the perk, coming face to face with Elaine who was glaring at him, spitting the word 'wolf' in his face before the sound of men chasing her drowned out the metallic echo of the shaking fire escape.

Gavin touched the back of his neck and pulled a hand away horrified when it came back purple. Wolfsbane. The Skinners were going down but not without a fight. That same sinking feeling tore at Gavin's stomach and he stumbled back into the building. He had to run, couldn't make it to the woods before this shit would work its way into his system. The warehouse had several floors, he could-

“Gavin, where did she go?” Hank called from the bottom of the fire escape. Trapping him.

“Hank, you gotta fuckin' go, ok?” Gavin stuttered out. The warmth of the shift was growing into a fever pitch and he was starting to lose his vision in blur of colors.

“Excuse me? I'm trying to do my fuckin' _job_ , so if you could just tell me where she--”

Gavin lurched forward on all fours with a painful groan. Fighting back the change was growing difficult. He had maybe a minute tops before he wouldn't have the strength. Hank frowned, reaching forward a hand on his shoulder and giving a squeeze. Gavin locked up entirely.

“Hank, you gotta let me go.” Gavin wheezed, closing his eyes, feeling the familiar ache growing behind them. Changing colors. Changing capacities. They would glow even outside of his contacts and he'd be found out.

“I'm not going anywhere, we only caught three of these fuckers, and I counted five. Where did that girl go?”

“Hank!” Gavin shouted suddenly, rattling the fire escape. “Just fucking _go_!”

“Reed, I have had it up to _here_ with your shitty attitude, you better--”

Gavin toppled completely to his side, sucking in a loud, shuddering gasp and clenching his jaw tightly. Even in the dim light of the warehouse, he caught Hank visibly step back, catching the fangs inching down Gavin's gums with purpose.

“Christ,” Hank murmured, “You're one of them.”

 _No shit, Anderson_ , he wanted desperately to say. Instead, his legs pitifully bicycled in an uncomfortable wriggle. “Can you stand?” Hank asked. Gavin grunted, shaking his head no.

“They drugged me,” he managed, tightening his fists so hard they whitened against the metal grates, “It's a pit fighter drug. You gotta go,” he hissed.

“I can't leave you here, Reed, not when I don't know where they all are.”

“T-Take the Red Ice, take their drugs, we can find the rest. I know what they sound l-like.”

Hank frowned, looking down at the cops below. “Take the drugs!” he bellowed, watching the men down below reaching for the evidence and the wolves left behind.

“What can I do to help?” Hank asked.

“Fuckin'...god, Hank, just leave!” he said.

“No chance in hell. You're a part of my squad, you're coming with us.”

Gavin felt his fingernails splintering under the force of his new claws growing in, hooked and wicked, ready to slice. The prickle of his stubble softened, felt smoother. The fur was coming in nicely and that terrified him.

“Hank, I'll...” he hurried to get the words out but all he could manage after that was a pained scream, his rib cage barreling outwards slowly, for too slowly. Organs pressed neatly against them, heart hammering against them in a quivering pile. Fuck, he couldn't fight this anymore.

He shimmied awkwardly out of his jacket, managing to unbutton his jeans and work on his shoelaces but failing as his fingers widened awkwardly. Fuck it, these sneakers were cheap, he could get a new pair at the store tomorrow. If he lived that long.

Hank stared for a while in sick fascination before getting the better of himself and instructed the men to hurry the hell up. The warehouse was finishing up its sweep of the area and filing out slowly but it wasn't enough. Hank was too close, too curious for his own good. Wouldn't leave a man behind, even as it tore free of its human clothes. The shift was always exhilarating for Gavin but now? Now he was terrified. He couldn't stop it if he tried, the already painful swell of muscle and shift of bone in his skeleton too much to contain. It could only go one-hundred percent in one direction, not the other.

Gavin managed to roll to his belly, shaking free of what was left of his clothes, precious jacket unmarred save for the bullet stripe from earlier. But there wasn't time to mope on it. The sudden rush of smells permeated the area quickly as the final touches of his muzzle finished. The black of his nose twitched insistently, focusing on Hank's scent.

It was rich, somehow earthy and musky all at once. It was 'Hank', in every sense of the word. The faint hint of coffee and what smelled like Wintergreen gum. An old hint of beer from the night before. His cologne, worn down by the sweat of the day. Comforting and soft like cotton but rugged and demanding, like Hank's imposing figure. Gavin blinked his gold, glowing eyes and focused them on Hank, who said nothing, frozen.

Gavin's head tilted slightly to the left, a whine forming in his throat. An impressive paw stepped forward on the metal grate of the fire escape and Hank instinctively stepped back. The sound was enough to send Gavin's ears perking forward, a snarl cutting off his whine as he lunged clumsily at Hank, claws snagging on the holes of the metal. Hank jerked back, spinning to bolt down the fire escape as the big beast lumbered behind him, death in its presence.

Hank lifted his gun, slipping off the safety in a familiar click to Gavin, but an aggressive sound to the wolf. A fight. This human wanted a fight. Gavin peeled his gums back and lunged again, Hank ducking and rolling to the side enough to escape the swipe of those hooked talons, sending Gavin sprawling into a metal barrel with a loud raucous.

“Hank?” Ben's voice called, but Hank shut him up quickly, telling him to get the rest out of here, that he was handling it, to get to safety. But Ben didn't listen, pulling out his own gun and cutting through the light filtering through the door. Gavin's head turned to Ben and he barked, aggressive and feral, making the portly man hesitate.

“Don't shoot!” Hank hollered, scrambling to two legs, “It's Reed!”

“He's a wolf?” Ben asked, stepping back, but Gavin was starting to circle, brown fur bristling in an impressive mohawk down his back. The saliva cascading down Gavin's gums was glinting sickly in the dim lights, giving him the impression of a rabid animal ready to be put down. Hank, thinking quickly, tossed a piece of concrete straight at Gavin's head, the sound echoing off of his skull and sending him careening to the side, giving Ben enough time to bolt away.

Hank was panting, arm still outstretched with his throw. All those years of baseball with Cole wasn't for show, it seemed. “Reed, wake the fuck up.” he warned, voice low. Gavin hunkered down, wiping his head with a thick paw and turning his attention back to Hank. It was obvious that something wasn't right, this wasn't how things went. A pit fighter. That's what Hank saw. The same bloodlust those wolves exercised. A drug did this.

A low rumble made Hank reach again for his gun. The scent of gunpowder thickened and the fur bristled back along Gavin's spine. This wolf was strange to him, hairless, fangless, clawless, adorned in tight blue fur and blonde hair slicked back. He'd make a terrible mate for a female. A terrible fight for Gavin.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eon, staring each other down, gold meeting blue, gun aimed at a mouth full of teeth. It took a piece of concrete falling from the ceiling to break the silence, the drawn bow string snapped, and Gavin lunged in time for a gunshot to ring out clear.

Hank toppled backwards, holding his arms up as Gavin snapped and snarled, dowsing his face in saliva that reeked of dog breath and acid. The wolf's eyes were wide, its claws scrabbling for purchase on the concrete below. Hank was kicking Gavin where he could in the stomach and lower, making the wolf simply shimmy over and continue lunging. Hank reached for his pistol and slammed it against the wolf's snout, raking the butt-end right across Gavin's old scar and he stepped back with a pained howl.

Hank scooted back on his ass, readying to shoot again, but Gavin was quicker, practically sliding on his belly to reach underneath Hank's arms and aim his fangs at the man's throat. The motion knocked Hank back, causing Gavin's fangs to clench down across Hank's shoulder. He yelled, the warm rush of blood down his back and chest, but Gavin dug deeper, claws raking down Hank's stomach as he fought to topple the man over and deliver a deathblow.

A gunshot rang out clear and Hank felt a spray of liquid on his face, Gavin's paws working wildly to get him off of the man. Hank's hands flew up to put pressure on his shoulder, the large chunk of skin hanging on but barely, leaving a grotesque crater. Gavin's paw-like hands felt around on his stomach, staining red, a perfect hole blown clearly through his belly. He was coughing, making choked sounds, confused paws working wildly down his chest. He slumped forward with a whine, scared tongue darting out to lick the endless blood streaming from his mouth, staining the cream fur crimson.

Hank clutched his hands on his shoulder tightly, feeling the cold of the warehouse all the more intensely. He would die here, at the hand of his stubborn coworker, the one who worked his ass off to impress him. Hank huffed out a small laugh, blue eyes trained on the wolf bleeding out before him. Gavin was always eerily good at tracking down perps and finding evidence and it made sense why, now. But it really didn't matter when they were both going to die here in a Red Ice bust gone wrong.

At least...he assumed.

In the haze of his blackening vision, he caught the faint vision of Ben, followed closely by paramedics. Some of the cops made a human-like barrier in front of him and Gavin, keeping them safe, guns trained on the dying wolf. He tried to tell them to help Gavin too, that he would die here, but he couldn't make the words. His tongue felt like lead, his head so heavy it could only loll limply against his chest. He only felt the cold compress against his shoulder and watched Gavin fall still in his vision before it dimmed out completely.

 

 

 

Hank awoke on a hospital bed with a groan. His tongue was dry and the itch in his arm only indicated the IV was feeding him. Terrific. He was only vaguely aware of the pain in his shoulder that, once he felt it, it suddenly grew unbearable. He peered underneath the blue hospital gown and frowned. He saw gauze, lots and lots of gauze, taped down with some dark lines beneath it. Stitches. So he lived after all. He caught sight of a calendar and his heart skipped. He had been here for four days!?

A voice cleared its throat and, turning to the left, he saw Reed, sitting in the chair, looking away uncomfortably as he awkwardly shifted and shrunk himself down smaller than he seemed.

“You're ok,” he said, relief flooding his words. “Hank, I'm...”

Hank grunted, focusing his attention towards another spare chair where he caught sight of what looked like a pink hoodie and a blue jacket. Maria and Cole were here.

“They just left to get something from the vending machine, I think. Your wife said she had to make a phone call.” Gavin spoke, words small.

“When were you gonna tell me, Reed?”

“I was...” Gavin fell quiet. “I wanted to. Was going to, but...fuck, Anderson, you know they'd fire me on the spot if they knew. I finally got onto the force, was doing some good in the world. Y-You know me, man, I wouldn't keep this shit a secret if I was just gonna jeopardize shit.”

“So instead you ran off to get high on Red Ice, knowing full well that that shit doesn't fly around me and then kept secret that you're one of _them_? You know I hate these fucking androids and werewolves are right below that on my shit list, Reed.”

Gavin sucked in a breath, failing on keeping his eyes away from the bundle of gauze where his fangs had sunk days prior. His fault. If he just told Anderson, if he just tried not to go to some fucking werewolf circle jerk orgy with a bunch of idiot twenty-year-olds. If he just stayed at home, jerked off in the shower and ordered a pizza instead of needing to be _free_....

“How bad is it?” Hank's voice spoke huskily, looking around the room. Gavin's stomach sank. The guilt was already too fucking much to bear and now this?

“It...was bad,” he said, quietly, “You'll probably have a decent sized scar...”

“Fucking wonderful,” Hank muttered, running his hand through his short blonde hair.

“Um...” Gavin was shifting again, hiding his face from Hank.

“What?” Hank asked. Gavin said nothing, just opening and shutting his mouth like a dumbass fish. “Reed, what?!” he asked again, this time his voice booming in superiority. Gavin visibly flinched.

“Hank, I'm sorry, but...they...by the time they did the surgery on you and gave you a blood transfusion, you...” Gavin swallowed a few times, inhaling a shaky breath and lowering his gray eyes from Hank's enraged glare. “There was nobody to tell them that the wound had to be properly sterilized, and...”

“What are you fucking saying, Reed?” Hank asked, already tired of this shit. He was hungry, and tired, and he felt like shit with a fever. Every fucking thing in this room stank except for Gavin's cologne, which he must have taken a fucking _bath_ in with how strong it overpowered the antiseptic and hospital soap smell. Hank rubbed his nose as if to rid himself of the stink before he hesitated.

“...no.”

“Hank, I'm sorry.”

“Reed, shut your fucking mouth! I swear to God if the next thing out of your mouth is what you're gonna say, I'll have you fired on the spot so fucking hard, you won't get a job in the next states over.”

Gavin's lip was quivering, now, and Hank felt the drop in the pit of his stomach. Anger surged in him, burned every single vein, but fear was sucking the adrenaline out of his sails like a vacuum. Gavin, the cocksure asshole, was rendered useless, hunkering in his chair as if he might be able to shrink into nothing and disappear from sight.

“Fuck,” Hank whispered, covering his eyes with an impressive hand, “God, fuck.”

Gavin turned his head towards the door, positively trembling in terror. Or was it guilt? He wasn't sure. He just couldn't stop the shakes. He had made the dumbest decision of his life and for what? To render his officer useless in a hospital bed, letting him bleed out in some shitty warehouse full of drugs, pinned beneath his teeth. The man's squad he sought so desperately to be accepted into and for what? For this outcome.

“I want you gone,” Hank growled beneath his palm. Gavin hesitated, looking towards Hank, who simply hollered, “Get the fuck out! Go! Leave!”

Gavin practically jolted out of the seat, wrapping his jacket around himself before heading to the door. He touched the knob and turned back to see Hank looking out the window, arms curled around himself, biceps straining with the force of his hands tightening.

“I'm sorry, Hank. I...I'll put in my resignation tomorrow. You don't have to forgive me, but, just know that I'm a dipshit and you deserved a better detective on your squad. If that's not enough, I'll...” He closed his eyes, exhaled the breath he was holding. “I'll turn myself in. Assault on an officer, possession of drugs, being...this. I'll rot in a cell if it makes you happy.”

He opened the door with a grimace, “When you get out of here, you know where I live. Come kick my ass, Anderson. It's the least I could do.” The door squeaked shut. It wasn't until Gavin's footsteps dissipated that Hank exhaled the breath he was holding, feeling a hot stream of tears run down his face. Stupid. Gavin was so stupid. Hank looked down at the creases of his hands before clenching them tightly into a fist.

 

 


End file.
